


Ignition

by Lemonsmoothie



Category: Big Hero 6: The Series (Cartoon), Fillmore!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonsmoothie/pseuds/Lemonsmoothie
Summary: An alternate explanation for El Fuego's backstory. He is a consummate luchador, never removing his mask even out of the wrestling match. But what if there was more to the story?
Kudos: 1





	Ignition

Author’s Note 1: I assume that after Big Hero 6 stopped Obake from leveling San Fransokyo, the news media did release details about Obake and I assumed that’s how El Fuego knows about him. He refers to Obake as El Fantasma, which is Spanish for “the ghost.” Mostly due to his pallor, since Fuego would hardly know or care about the Japanese meaning of Obake.  
And if you aren’t familiar with Disney’s Fillmore!, a lot of this might not make sense. Sadly, Fillmore has not been rereleased for streaming and there was never a home video release. (Fingers crossed for Disney Plus! And soon!) And to my knowledge, there’s been no merch. Which annoyed me back in the day because I wanted a Vallejo doll that would yell “FILLMOOOOOORE!” when you pull his string. I still want that doll. But the basic premise is that Vallejo and El Fuego are both voiced by Horatio Sanz, so I thought: What if they are one and the same? And this just followed from that. 

Oh, and I hope you don’t mind Felony Carl has a last name in this story! He’s still Felony Carl, though. Always Felony Carl.

More Author’s Notes at end

“Ignition”  
A Big Hero 6: The Series fanfic by Lemonsmoothie  
Disclaimer: Big Hero 6 belongs to Disney, so does Fillmore.  
Author’s Note 2: The scenes and vignettes are not in chronological order, so I will put a little tag identifying the time at the beginning.  
Warnings: Violence, blood, some language. 

(After El Fuego is arrested at the end of his debut episode “El Fuego.”) 

“Horatio Vallejo?” Chief Diego Cruz approached the holding tank. 

The muscular man sitting in the holding tank did not respond. 

Cruz pinched the bridge of his nose. “El Fuego?” 

The man turned. “Yes, Chief?” 

“Someone posted your bail, so you’re free to go,” Cruz said, unlocking the door. 

“Who?” Fuego asked. 

“This is the weird part. The famous movie director, Malika Stanyan,” Cruz said. “You know her?” 

“I did once,” Fuego said. “Until next time, Chief Snooze.” 

“Now, that is not fair,” Cruz protested. “They say not to judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.” 

El Fuego let out a roar of boisterous laughter. “Meh, thirty years ago I had your job. And I was way better at it.” 

Detective Kato stood next to Cruz, carrying a cup of coffee. “What do you think he means by that?” 

“He’s insane, that’s what,” Cruz said. “San Fransokyo’s turning into a living psycho ward…” 

XXX

(Right after “Legacies”) 

Chief Diego Cruz groaned as he stretched. The near destruction of San Fransokyo had brought a ton of misery…and paperwork on the San Fransokyo Police Department. Not to mention that two hour phone call with the Mayor over deploying military grade robots in city limits and how said military-grade robots were hijacked and almost turned on the populace. 

And he hadn’t gotten around to finalizing El Fuego’s arrest. His lawyer might even get the arrest thrown out because it had been procured with the Buddy Guardians, which had gone rogue. 

“Chief,” Detective Kato poked his head into the office. “You have a visitor.” 

“Who?” Cruz asked. 

“The current Attorney General for the State of Tennessee,” Kato answered. 

“What does an out of state attorney general want with me?” Cruz asked. “Never mind. Send him in.” 

“I apologize for dropping in unannounced,” the visitor said, handing him a business card. “Wayne Liggett.” 

“I’m sorry, but can you make this short?” Cruz asked. 

“I came by to personally deliver the check for Horatio Vallejo’s bail,” Liggett said. “And I wanted to talk to you about him.” 

“OK, first a movie director and now a state attorney general?” Cruz asked. “El Fuego has friends in high places. Won’t you sit down, Mr. Liggett?” 

“No, this will be brief enough,” Liggett said. He shot a disinterested gaze over the stack of paper in Cruz’s inbox. “I see that you’re busy. What I am about to tell you is the truth about my mentor, Vallejo. He set me on the path of the straight and narrow.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Cruz said.  
“I used to live here. Vallejo and I attended X Middle School together. He was one year above me. Then my father’s job involved a transfer to Tennessee. We moved there, and I’ve lived there ever since. I wasn’t there for Vallejo when he needed me, and this is my way of atoning for that.” 

“Sounds like something bad happened,” Cruz said. 

“They called it the Tragedy of the Holy Night. December 12, 2006. Vallejo was a senior and my best friend Cornelius Fillmore was a junior at Rolling Hills High. Fillmore and his girlfriend Ingrid attended the school’s annual Christmas Ball, which was almost as big as prom. Fillmore and Ingrid were crowned king and queen. But as they were being crowned, a bomb went off under the stage.” Wayne stated the facts calmly, but his right hand gripped his briefcase tightly. 

“I remember it now,” Cruz said. “I was living in Palau Alto back then. They never figured out who the terrorist was?” 

“Vallejo, myself, and my friends believe it was a former student at X named Brad Parnassus. He had a grudge against both Fillmore and Ingrid. But he had a solid alibi, so the police never considered him a suspect. But alibis can be faked.” 

“Where is Brad Parnassus now?” Cruz asked. “There is no statute of limitations on murder, and closing a high-profile bombing is certainly in the public interest…” 

“Dead,” Wayne Liggett said. “We planned to turn over our findings to the police, but Parnassus was in a car accident. He had hemophilia. Dead on arrival. I called Vallejo.” 

“So after all that, it’s over?” Vallejo sounded bitter. “We’ve been denied the chance for revenge.” 

“Don’t you mean justice?” Wayne asked. 

“I know what I said,” Vallejo said. “It’s so frustrating…! We were so close…!” 

“I know, but at least Parnassus can’t hurt anyone else anymore,” Wayne said. 

“You sound just like my mother. ‘Everything happens for a good reason.’ There was absolutely no reason they had to die! They both made mistakes, but they atoned for them. What kind of cosmic forces would deny them their second chance? And you don’t think it’s the least bit suspicious? That Parnassus randomly dies in a car accident?” Vallejo wasn’t shouting, but Wayne knew he was shaking with rage. 

“He won’t admit it, but he was deeply traumatized by the Tragedy,” Wayne concluded. “Fillmore and Ingrid were like his younger siblings. I know I have no right to ask you, but please do whatever you can for my unhappy mentor.” And with that, Wayne walked out of the office. 

XXX

Against his better judgment, Cruz turned on the recording application on his cell phone. “As part of a personal favor from Wayne Liggett, Tennessee’s Attorney General, I am conducting an interview with Horatio Vallejo, better known as El Fuego…” 

In the visitor’s room, El Fuego was wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. He still wore his mask. Supposedly he had beat up a guard who tried to remove it forcibly. 

“I heard the whole story from Wayne Liggett,” Cruz said. 

Fuego laughed. “He was just messing with you.” 

“He flew in all the way from Tennessee. That’s an awful long way to come just to ‘mess with me,’” Cruz said. 

“He might have given you a story about a face who became a heel,” Fuego leaned back in the metal chair. It creaked miserably under the added strain. “But that’s all it was. A tale. Fiction.” 

“He called you his mentor. He believes in you! How can you dismiss that?” Cruz sounded incredulous. 

“It isn’t me he respects,” Fuego answered. “He put his faith in an idealized version of his memory of one Horatio Vallejo. He doesn’t know the real me. That I have always been and will always be the heel.” 

“Can you tell me more about that?” Cruz said. “You were the Junior Commissioner of the X Middle School Safety Patrol. At Rolling Hills, you were member of the wrestling team and won the school some trophies, you graduated valedictorian…” Cruz neglected to mention that Horatio Vallejo had broken down crying in his graduation speech and couldn’t finish. “Bachelor’s and master’s in mechanical engineering from Cal State Fullerton. None of that really screams ‘heel.’”

“There was always evil in me,” Fuego said. “A spark. It would flare up periodically. Like when I told a little weasel named Winston Cotter that if he didn’t get good, I would make his life a nightmare from which he’d never wake.” 

“I think there’s good and bad in everyone,” Cruz said. “I know how you feel, to lose someone close to you…” 

“Have you ever lost one of your officers?” El Fuego asked. 

“Fortunately, no, I haven’t,” Cruz admitted. “But I know there’s always a chance that I will lose someone. It comes with the badge. Like the chicken said, I knew this job was dangerous when I took it.” 

“I went to the Christmas Ball. I wasn’t going to, but Fillmore and Ingrid insisted. They even bought me a silk tie…” Fuego began. “They told me that red looks good on me…” 

XXX  
Time: December 12, 2006 aka the early evening of the Tragedy of the Holy Night 

Vallejo gazed at himself in the mirror. The bright red silk tie around his neck looked better than he expected. 

“Why don’t you ever wear red?” Fillmore asked. 

“Yeah, it looks good on you,” Ingrid added. 

“My mom doesn’t like the color red. Too passionate, too much like blood. She never let me pick out any red clothing when I was a kid,” Vallejo explained. “Even when relatives gave me clothes for birthdays and Christmas, she’d get gift receipts for any red stuff and exchange them at the stores. And when I was old enough to pick clothes, I guess it was just a habit that I didn’t choose red clothing. My dad tells me that red is my sign’s lucky color.” 

XXX

El Fuego continued his narrative. “But I survived. The evil one survived, the two good ones did not.” 

“Again, you weren’t evil back then,” Cruz said. He groaned. Maybe a change of subject. “Maybe you can tell me about how you know ‘Felony’ Carl Raycliff?” 

“Oh, that’s an easy one,” Fuego said. “His father was the Vice Principal at X. Unfortunately, that made him a target of bullies at X and he in turn lashed out at everyone. He committed a string of petty crimes and they labeled him Misdemeanor Carl. He eventually got kicked out of X. His father asked me to tutor him, and I agreed. He really isn’t a bad guy, even if he got promoted from Misdemeanor Carl to Felony Carl. I hear you took him in again recently.” 

“I can’t discuss that with you,” Cruz interrupted. 

“Hmph,” Fuego answered. “I bet your underlings love your habits of stonewalling and revisionism. They laugh at you behind your back, you know. And if you’ve ever claimed that you could have stopped El Fantasma, you deserve it. Someday the city will realize how worthless you are, and they’ll dance and stomp on you. I only hope I can still be around so I can laugh.” 

“Big words for someone who immediately begged for mercy once Big Hero 6 pulled your mech away with their magnets,” Cruz answered. “And even now you hide your face behind a mask.” 

“It comes with being a heel,” Fuego added. “The difference between me and you is that I admit I am terrible.” He thought of the days leading to his expulsion from the mech wrestling league. 

XXX  
(During El Fuego, after the mech wrestling match the heroes all went to see but before the second match) 

Joshua, the man who played Uncle Samurai, looked irritated. “Can you not…act like you really want to kill me?”

“It’s called selling,” Fuego said. 

“You’re going too far with this. My torso is completely purple under my mech and what was that stunt with the bench?”

“It’s just…you know I get excited in the ring and lose myself. Plus, when I was eighteen, I really wanted to kill this guy who was younger than me and if he hadn’t died at seventeen he might look a lot like you now, so that old hate bubbles up and I just can’t shut it off…” 

“What did this kid do?” Joshua asked. “Steal your lunch money?” 

“You know, my daddy was with the Mexican Mafia, so you probably don’t want to continue this line of questioning,” Fuego said. This was a bluff. His father wouldn’t so much as fudge his taxes and was a stodgy bank manager. But of course Joshua didn’t know that. 

“Whatevs,” Joshua said dismissively. 

“I do all the work here. All you have to do is smile when I throw the match!” Fuego’s voice and expression were bitter. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Joshua said. “I didn't make the rules. Honestly, I think you should win once in a while. Keeps things from being too predictable. Just…be a little more delicate, okay? We have a pay-per-view event next month and I’d rather not look and feel like I got hit by a bus.” 

“No promises,” Fuego said. 

“Say, wanna grab a beer?” Joshua asked. “I really want to forget that I'm kowtowing to a 13 year old.” 

Fuego laughed boisterously. “Oh, you did not just ask me that. What would people say?! That El Fuego and Uncle Samurai were seen together drinking?” 

“Come on, without this mech, no one recognizes me,” Joshua said. “And no one would know who you are if you took your mask off.”

“Nope. Mask stays on. Why don't you ask Maestro?” 

“You put him in the hospital!” Joshua facepalmed. 

“Right…” Fuego burst out laughing. 

Joshua rolled his eyes. “Six months in traction, no solid foods, remember? Ugh, most people are creeped out by the fact you never break character. But okay. See you tomorrow.”

Fuego went to his friend Danny O’Farrell’s apartment after work. 

Danny was still imperially slim. His red hair had a few straggly gray hairs, but he had a well-trimmed goatee. “I’m a little surprised. You avoid the others, but you freely come to my place.” 

“Well, you are a fan,” Fuego answered. “That makes a difference.” 

“I’d like to think you also think of me as a friend,” Danny said. 

“Perhaps, but I still believe you’re not qualified to operate a stapler,” Fuego said. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Danny said. “It’d be weird otherwise.” 

They sat together on Danny’s couch, sipping beer. 

“I haven’t heard from Anza or Tehama lately,” Danny said. “But I know they still worry about you. Give them a call.” 

Anza and Tehama dated in college and married upon graduation. But it didn’t last. They divorced three years later. Anza had moved to Las Vegas and opened a little tavern off the strip. Tehama had stayed in San Fransokyo and achieved her dream of becoming a forensic chemist. No one ever mentioned it, but it was totally the Tragedy of the Holy Night that had come between them. 

There was a ringing sound. Fuego took out his cell phone. The case was red with some orange flames decorating it. He didn’t recognize the number, so he tentatively answered. “Yo.”

A familiar feminine voice. “Well, it’s nice to finally hear your voice.”

“Malika, oy…” Fuego groaned. “How did you get this number?” 

“I’ll stop calling when you stop avoiding me. Horatio, why can’t we just talk about what happened?” 

“There’s nothing left to talk about. You left me, Malika. And nothing you say will change that. As much as you explore the concept in your movies, there is no ‘what if.’ There is only ‘what was.’” 

“You make it sound like I died and left you.” Malika said flatly. 

“In a way, you kinda did. You were dead to me.”

“Look, I was weak then. I couldn’t resist. It was basically a cult. You might not believe me, but I genuinely liked Ingrid. I never thought her as some figure in a ledger, and I still miss her. I wish we could have done great things together, but it is as you said. Nothing can change the past. But we can change the future.” 

“And what future is that?” Fuego asked. 

“History repeating itself. You’re walking on a tightrope over lava and it’s only a matter of time before that rope burns up. And if nothing changes, I see you plunging into that lava…” 

Fuego clicked the end call button and tossed the phone aside. There was a crash and a frantic cat yowl. “I miss the old days. Back when you didn’t want to talk to people and you’d just leave the phone off the hook?” 

“Still, she still cares about you,” Danny said. “Maybe you should send her a balloon bouquet or something?” 

“I think I’m going,” Fuego said. “Malika or Bishop or any of them trying to talk to me always ruins my mood and…you know. Oh, and if they ask about me again, you can give them a message for me.” 

“What kind of message?” Danny asked. 

“To not worry about Horatio Vallejo. He died in the Tragedy of the Holy Night too.” 

XXX

(Continuing from Cruz’s interview with El Fuego following “Legacies”)

“Can you tell me how you became El Fuego?” Cruz asked. 

“After college, I went from engineering gig to engineering gig,” Fuego explained. “There was a recession and the work dried up, so I took a job with the mech wrestling federation as repairman. And for a year or so, I maintained the mechs. But then one day, one of the wrestlers got sick before a big event. He was in no condition to perform. I knew how to operate the mech and I had some understanding of wrestling from my high school days, so I volunteered to take his place. His character was the Black Vulture. Not an appealing character, but that’s par for the course for a heel…” Fuego drew in a deep breath. “That performance fanned my spark of evil into a flame. It was like a sign from God. I found myself. I used to think boos were only good if you were a bad guy in a melodrama, but when I was in that ring…it felt so good! And the more I hammed it up, the more they booed! And the kids! The kids would go nuts like I was a rock star. So I came up with my own character, designed my mask and mech, then signed on as a wrestler. And I’ve been El Fuego ever since. Following all the rules, being the good perfect little Junior Commissioner Vallejo got me nowhere. But once I became El Fuego, my path was clear. I was born to break the rules!” 

“So that’s it? It’s more fun to be bad than to be good?” Cruz’s face was a mix of incredulity and disgust. 

“OK, let me try to put it in a way your poquito brain can understand,” Fuego said. “If there were a casting call for Othello, what part would the actors want?” 

“Um, Othello? It’s the title role, after all.” 

“Nope. The actors want to be cast as Iago. He has the most lines in the play. But more than that, Iago has all the control. Othello may have the title and the hot wife, but he’s a wimp. He destroys every good thing in his life, and for what? Nothing.” 

Cruz looked puzzled. “That doesn’t make any sense! Iago screwed with Othello because he’s miserable! And Iago killed his wife too!” 

“Mi mama always believed in me,” Fuego said. “She said if I became a police officer, I’d be the Chief of Police. If I were a doctor, I’d be the Chief of Staff. But I became a mech wrestler and became El Fuego! Da da da da!” He smirked at Cruz. “I’d do the dramatic pose and fireworks, but you…confiscated my mech.” 

Cruz simply facepalmed. “Take him back to his cell. I just…can’t right now.” 

“I’d say the same about you,” Fuego mumbled under his breath, remembering the events of last Christmas. 

XXX

(“The Present,” before Noodle Burger Boy arrived at Steamer’s party) 

“I’m surprised you accepted my invitation,” Baron Von Steamer said, placing El Fuego’s contribution to White Elephant under a gaudy looking tree. 

“Sounded like fun,” Fuego said. It beat the alternative. Nothing good on TV; just smaltzy sentimental glop about everyone loving everyone else. And being alone in an empty apartment, drinking cocoa, and then the thoughts would start to creep in. Even a boring Christmas party seemed better in comparison. 

“How do?” asked a short man with a bowl cut. His hair was pink, though it showed all signs of being natural rather than dyed. He was adjusting an old fashioned portable television. “Mr. Sparkles, though I hardly need an introduction…” He turned back to the television. The current police chief was giving a statement about Big Hero 6.

Sparkles grimaced. “Ugh, what is that dudhead’s problem? Why is he always complaining about Big Hero 6 when we’re the problem? Now Big Hero 6 is in hiding. I’ve been so bored lately I could scream.” 

“It does seem odd that he’s more upset about superheroes than supervillains,” the Baron agreed. 

“Wonder why?” A lean, cruel-looking woman in brightly colored spandex, skates, and skating gear had arrived. 

“Sue, this is El Fuego,” the Baron said. “El Fuego, Supersonic Sue.” 

“Pleasure,” Sue said disinterestedly. “I saw you on the news. Out of all the circus folk, you wanted to dance with the bot?” 

“I am a mech wrestler at heart,” Fuego answered. “But back to Chief Cruz. I know why he’s pursuing Big Hero 6.” 

“Do tell,” Sparkles said. 

“He’s a narcissistic, control-crazy cabrón,” Fuego said. “Big Hero 6 keeps the peace in this city, not him. And he can’t stand it. Their existence is the narcissistic injury, and so he reacts with narcissistic rage. Simply put, Big Hero 6 shows him his own failure and shortcomings, so he has to get rid of them to re-establish his fragile sense of self-worth.” 

“So impotence rage, basically?” Sue proposed.

“In some ways, yes,” Fuego said. “His rage is directed at the target – in this case, Big Hero 6 – and this rage blocks out everything else. Cruz even resorts to convenient fact distortions and groundless accusations.” 

“Go on,” the Baron said. 

“You really want to hear more?” Fuego asked. “My psychology courses were a long time ago, so I might not be paraphrasing Heinz Kohut right.” 

“Hey, part of being a supervillain is knowing your adversary,” Sue said. “You know, I pegged you as all brawn, no brains…” 

Before Sue could finish her sentence, an odd-looking robot that resembled a noodle burger from the head up and a cartoon little boy from the neck down ran in. The robot was followed by the members of Big Hero 6. 

The heroes looked around in obvious confusion. The one in green armor asked his friends, “Did we just crash a supervillain Christmas party?” 

“That you did, Big Hero 6,” Sparkles said. “Rude.” 

And…well, how else was it going to end? Not that Fuego minded. Sure, getting stuck in that sticky pink stuff wasn’t ideal, but at least he could breathe through it. Though he wondered if that skinny pink girl threw it at him without considering if it was breathable. She was more psycho and violent than she pretended to be. Noodle Burger Boy eventually wriggled free from the packed snow with his robo-muscles and released them. Then he got a call from his sister and left. How on earth do robots even have sisters…? Then again, that burger-headed kid did boggle his expectations. 

“Finally!” Sue said. “I’m so tired of censoring myself. Don’t want to corrupt that cute little boy.” 

“Can we really corrupt an automaton?” The Baron asked. “They’re just objects.” 

“And Big Hero 6 came to us just as we were complaining about their recent absence,” Sparkles commented. “Maybe that’s a Christmas miracle.” 

Sue had grabbed a tray of shotglasses and filled each very sloppily. “Let’s take some shots, bitches!” They each took a shot and knocked it back. 

Soon all four were drunkeningly singing using the Baron’s steam-powered karaoke machine:  
“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints!  
The sinners are much more fun!  
You know that only the good die young…” 

“Why did we only do karaoke after Noodle Burger Boy left?” Fuego asked once they had gotten tired of singing. 

The other three groaned. 

“Because if we had told him about the karaoke machine, he’d have sung the jingle for Noodle Burger on endless loop…” Sparkles shuddered. “Never again…” 

“I can’t even watch the commercials without wanting to puke,” Sue added. 

“You really are new to San Fransokyo’s supervillain scene,” the Baron said. 

“Verdad, but I’m a fast learner,” Fuego said. 

XXX  
(Just before “A New Sparkles”)

“Say, Fuego, could I ask you something?” Sparkles approached Fuego in the prison courtyard. 

“Go ahead.” Fuego frowned at the seams of his orange prison jumpsuit, which was miserably stretched over his muscular chest. 

“Are you…happy?” Sparkles asked. 

“Happy? Of course I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. For once in my life, I’m getting what I want. People tremble as they step aside when I approach!” Fuego declared. “Sure, getting thrown in here is a drag but isn’t it all part of the game? We break out, wreak havoc, fight with Big Hero 6, the police bust us, and it all starts over!” 

“Yeah…” Sparkles said hesitantly. “Forget I asked.” 

Fuego snorted. “Besides, what else can we do? Go straight? Pfft. Let’s be real here.” 

XXX

(Shortly after the preceding scene) 

“Ugh. Stupid little weird man-baby,” Fuego said when he was alone in his cell. “Got in my head.” He tapped his forehead. “You hear me, Sparkles? You’re not allowed in my head.”

He stretched out. The years of mech wrestling had done their work on his joints, and the hard prison mattresses didn’t do much in terms of proper back support. “I’m getting old.” 

What would your younger self say? This inner voice didn’t sound like Sparkles or Cruz or Liggett or Malika. “My younger self was a little bitch with no balls, so who cares what he’d think?” Fuego said to the voice. “I know who I am now, and that’s all that matters. El Fuego. The fire. All fire burns out eventually. Even the stars will eventually go out. But they burn fearlessly. And so I will burn until the end!” 

The End

Author’s Note 3: OK, let’s address the elephant in the room here. It absolutely broke my heart to kill off Fillmore and Ingrid. But I wondered: what would set Vallejo on a dark path and make him become El Fuego? I mean, Fillmore and Ingrid drove him nuts and his pillow was coated with so many tears because of them, but he cared for both of them. He was very much like their older brother. And of course, we’ve had the characters go down varying paths of darkness from loss: Hiro, Callaghan, Cruz, Trina. 

Also, I liked that Cruz is a lambasting of machismo, but Vallejo was a Latino police chief character and he was so much more subtle and nuanced, not to mention a better leader than Cruz. At age 13! 

Some of these headcanons are my Fillmore headcanons: That Wayne would become the Attorney General for the State of Tennessee, Malika would change her evil ways and become a movie director, that Danny O’Farrell would go by Danny even in adult life and grow a goatee, that Parnassus has a clotting disorder.

Anyway, I hoped you liked, even if it is at best quasi-AU.


End file.
